


my soul is the sky

by blackkat



Series: hawks 'verse [19]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flirting, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25917046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “I apologize for my brothers,” Savage says. It’s definitely not the first time he’s said it.
Relationships: Savage Opress/Waxer (Star Wars)
Series: hawks 'verse [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825195
Comments: 23
Kudos: 532





	my soul is the sky

“I apologize for my brothers,” Savage says. It’s definitely not the first time he’s said it.

“It’s fine,” Waxer tells him firmly. It’s not the first time he’s said that, either, but he means it just as much as he did the first time. Carefully, he rolls up the sleeves of one of Savage’s shirts, trying very hard to resist the urge to bury his nose in the collar, and says, “It’s just dye, anyway. My bag’s had worse.”

“Yes, but they ruined your clothes,” Savage says, and directs a dark look out the window, to where a very sulky Maul and a stubbornly indignant Feral are currently pulling weeds. There are a lot of weeds, too. The backyard probably hasn’t been tended in a very long time.

Waxer firmly ignores the flicker of regret over how _he_ was planning to offer his services there and maybe bring in plants from Boil’s garden and make it pretty and—

Well. Those kinds of thoughts always end with him getting Savage’s attention and Savage deciding he’s _not_ just a helpful friend and a good cook who’s willing to look after Savage’s brothers when he’s indisposed. Which probably won't happen. But it’s a fun thought to cling to sometimes.

“It really is fine,” Waxer says firmly. “I live with a five-year-old, a little dye is nothing.” At least it was _accidental_ dye; last time Numa thought his clothes weren’t colorful enough, she went after them with sharpies. Feral and Maul’s water balloon full of blue food coloring is significantly less eye-searing than Numa’s favorite orange marker.

Savage doesn’t look overly convinced, but he huffs and pulls a zip-up hoodie out of his closet. “Here,” he says, and shoves it into Waxer’s hands. “This too.”

Waxer takes it, a little bemused. “It’s not _that_ cold,” he says, but pulls it on, and will admit it’s nice for staving off the bite of the morning air. He’d thankfully taken his jacket off before Maul hit him, but Savage’s shirt is a lot looser than his.

Thinking about the size difference between them is just going to make Waxer think of how hard Fives has been teasing him every time Savage comes up in conversation, though, and several of his more embarrassing accusations regarding _why_ Waxer has been pining so hard, so Waxer firmly shuts down that train of thought, pushes the sleeves up as best he can, and catches a flicker of something on Savage’s face.

“Don’t laugh,” Waxer warns him, because crush or not Waxer has _plenty_ of brothers and he’s more than used to dumping them on their asses when they’re being brats. Savage will probably take a little more leverage than most, but Waxer isn't about to be laughed at. “I told you Maul’s would fit me better.”

Savage snorts. “Chains and monochrome doesn’t seem like your type of fashion statement,” he says dryly, and then pauses, eyes skimming over Waxer for a moment. Waxer flushes hot, suddenly _starkly_ aware of the fact that he looks like a kid playing dress-up in Savage’s clothes, and opens his mouth—

“No, Savage says after a second, and reaches out, tugging the neckline of the shirt down just an inch.

This time, Waxer goes hot all over for an entirely different reason. He’s _incredibly_ aware of Savage’s callused fingertips resting against his skin, of how close Savage is standing, and he wants to step forward, to pull Savage down—

“Your tattoo,” Savage says, and glances up, golden eyes meeting Waxer’s. “I wouldn’t have thought you were the type.”

Waxer _isn't_ going to blush. He isn't. “I don’t know where you got that impression,” he says, and is frankly bewildered that it comes out steady. “Tattoos are a traditional Mandalorian art. I have more than just this one.”

Savage pauses, then carefully pulls his hand away. “All tally marks?” he asks, though there's something in his face Waxer can't read.

“No,” Waxer admits, and smiles a little, touching the tallies below his collarbone. “These are for my brothers. Every time a new one shows up, I get another mark.”

Savage blinks, long and slow. He tugs Waxer’s shirt down again, staring at the marks, and then says in disbelief, “You mean you get _five_ for every brother—”

It’s really, really hard not to grin. “No, one for each brother,” Waxer says, and laughs at the look Savage gives him. “Our father is a free spirit.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Savage says incredulously, but he shakes his head and pulls away. “This explains why I was seeing you in so many places on campus. with hair, usually.”

Waxer snickers, slipping past Savage to pull the paper towels off his bag. It’s very definitely dyed, but…splotchy. If he takes some dye to it later, he might be able to turn it into something interesting, though, and he probably still has some at home from when he was doing tie-dye with Numa last summer.

“I’m so sorry,” Savage says, aggrieved, and crouches down beside him. “I’ll pay for anything they ruined, especially since you were here to _tutor Maul_ , and for free—”

Waxer reaches out, catching his hand as he desperately blots at the canvas. “Savage,” he says firmly. “It’s okay. It’s just a bag, and they were having fun. I don’t care, I promise.”

Savage closes his eyes for a long moment, but sighs. “You're too nice,” he accuses, gently pulling his hand away, and Waxer has to laugh.

“That’s not what Boil would say,” he counters. “But I have enough younger brothers that I know how it goes sometimes.”

With a quiet snort, Savage sits back on his heels, running a hand over his head. “At least the garden will be well-weeded,” he says with a trace of humor.

“Very,” Waxer agrees, smiling. “I was going to see if I could take some of Boil’s starts and transplant them here. He always has too many, anyway, and the garden looks a little empty.”

Savage shoots him a look, but rises to his feet, catching Waxer’s hand and pulling him up as well. “Playing gardener?” he asks, raising a brow. “Do I have to sit by the pool with a drink and watch covertly while you take your shirt off? I think that’s the employer tradition.”

There's heat climbing Waxer’s cheeks, but he just laughs, refusing to acknowledge it. “You just want to see what other tattoos I have,” he accuses.

Savage’s grip around his hand tightens for just a moment, and he tugs Waxer in one step, almost up against him. “You _are_ wearing my clothes,” he says, just a little lower than normal, and Waxer is completely, utterly frozen beneath his stare. “And yours are all over my bedroom floor. Seeing your tattoos would fit in perfectly with that.”

Waxer closes his eyes, trying to remember how to breathe. Savage’s touch is _hot_ , and Waxer kind of wants to throw himself right at Savage and _climb him like a tree_. “I didn’t have nearly enough fun last night for you to have seen _any_ of my tattoos,” he says. “I guess you’ll have to try again.”

He thinks he hears Savage’s breath catch. “Last night?” Savage repeats, a little rough.

Deliberately, Waxer opens his eyes and gives Savage a smile. “Yeah,” he says, leaning in. “Just me, alone in my room.”

Savage’s eyes flicker down his face, his throat, his collarbone, and he leans back, hand tightening like he’s about to pull Waxer right up against him. Waxer rises to meet him, going up on his toes, and leans in to put his mouth close to Savage’s ear.

“Just me,” he repeats. “Alone in my room, with a nice, big psychology textbook.”

Savage freezes.

With a laugh, Waxer pulls back, dropping back on his heels, and turns, heading for the back door at a near-jog. He manages to hit the edge of the kitchen before there’s a snarl behind him, and then he bolts, heavy footsteps closing. Lunging, he grabs the doorknob just as Savage skids around the corner, and he’s laughing too hard for coordination, fumbles with the latch, and manages to get it open half a second before he’s tackled bodily.

The fact that they manage to take out both Maul _and_ Feral as they go rolling down the steps just makes it even better.


End file.
